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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182345">paninis and... pain?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeyclarke/pseuds/zoeyclarke'>zoeyclarke</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>9-1-1 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Café, Fluff, It's okay though, M/M, Minor Injuries, One Shot, Romantic Comedy, oh look buck gets injured again oops</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:09:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,518</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182345</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeyclarke/pseuds/zoeyclarke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Buck slips into the café and immediately, as if his eyes are little gadgets programmed to pinpoint hot hazel-eyed hunks, he finds his crush standing at the counter already waiting for his order.</p><p>OR: the "lovestruck assistant" scene from 3x11 reimagined with Buck and Eddie.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>223</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>paninis and... pain?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so i watched the episode tonight, then i was in the shower and i was like WAIT those lovestruck idiots in the cute café scene could totally be OUR lovestruck idiots! so here y'all go. thanks for reading, hope you enjoy it &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Buck’s breath snags in his throat when his eyes land on the café. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about it— it’s the same café he visits every day. But standing directly beneath the café’s tidy brick facade, holding open the door for an older lady, is the same </span>
  <em>
    <span>man </span>
  </em>
  <span>he sees every day. Buck has never been one to favor routine— in fact, he rather </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates </span>
  </em>
  <span>that as the belittled assistant at this law firm, he’s forced to make these daily sandwich runs for all the boring attorneys he sucks up to. He’s been meaning to pursue a major career change, but life has been getting in the way lately (in the form of a very adorable newborn niece who’s been taking up all his spare time). Why, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>did he graduate with that useless business degree?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stays frozen on the sidewalk until Sir Seductive Stubble lets the door close behind him. Swallowing hard, Buck adjusts his restrictive button down; then, after considering it a moment, he decides to undo the top button. He slips into the café and immediately, as if his eyes are little gadgets programmed to pinpoint hot hazel-eyed hunks, he finds his crush standing at the counter already waiting for his order. He’s always so fast, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>far ahead enough in line during the daily lunch rush, that Buck has yet to actually hear his voice. What he wouldn’t give to have (what must be) those honeyed murmurs stroke his ear drums...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Buck thinks as he undoes the second button on his shirt. (Thank god he’s not wearing one of those awful ties today.) </span>
  <em>
    <span>Since when is L.A. this hot in March?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hen is smirking knowingly as Buck strides up to the counter. “Henrietta,” Buck says firmly, hoping the use of her less-preferred full name will subdue her somewhat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his dismay, however, it doesn’t do a thing to dampen her mischievious simper. At the very least, though, because Hen is Hen, she throws him half a bone and acts casual at first. “You didn’t call ahead with their orders today,” she hums, already plugging in the orders she knows by heart into the register.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clearly I don’t need to,” Buck points out. The heavy sigh he puts out right after that is enough to bring on a much unwanted subject change. (Well, okay, maybe the sigh is a little bit on purpose and the subject change is a little tiny bit wanted.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>try </span>
  </em>
  <span>talking to him,” Hen says. “I honestly find it hard to believe you suddenly lose every ounce of confidence around this guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Hen,” Buck whines. “He’s so— so—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cute! Like, really cute! And hot. Are those the same thing? But anyway, yes, he is both of those things </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>more, and I can’t just—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“— walk up to him and say ‘hello’ in the only language you know? It’s not that hard, Buck. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>you, and you could seduce anyone in this room if you wanted to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Buck lifts an eyebrow. “Even you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hen snaps her mouth shut, but opens it again to concede, “Well, no, I’m too gay for even </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>dear Evan, but all I’m saying is I don’t want you to let fear get in the way of something that could be great for you. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve </span>
  </em>
  <span>this. Besides, you’ve already doodled an entire confession for him on one of our menus, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A line is slowly forming behind him, so Buck hurries to take out his company credit card and hands it over for Hen to swipe. “Yeah, yeah. It’s just... I feel like if something was meant to happen, he would’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>noticed </span>
  </em>
  <span>me by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It could be he’s nervous too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But— I mean, we’ve seen each other </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>many times at this café and he still doesn’t even know my name,” Buck says as he takes his card back. To be fair, he doesn’t know Mystery Man’s name, either, but it’s something he loves to fantasize about. He’ll find himself sitting in a boring meeting, or standing in line at Peet’s to get a flimsy paper tray of almond milk lattes that only lawyers would drink, and he’ll lose himself in thinking of suitable names for this dude. What name could possibly </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be used by this Café Crush of his? So far Buck has only drawn blanks, because it’s so difficult to put a perfect name to a face he’s already fallen in love with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he spots the look on Hen’s face, and too late he realizes his friend has something up her sleeve. With the perkiest customer-service expression plastered on, Hen takes the two bags containing Buck’s superiors’ orders (of course, they’re already made ahead of time, they all know him too well here) and she announces at a volume a sports announcer would use, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Buck! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Order for Evan Buckley! Is there a Buck here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay,” he hisses, cheeks aflame like stove burners. “Thank you, Hen.” He swipes the bags from her and prepares to take his five-step walk of shame out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He should definitely know your name now,” Hen says, looking quite pleased with herself. And if only she could see the amused glance Hazel Eyes shoots Buck from his place at the counter behind her— then again, maybe that’s for the best, because then Buck would never hear the end of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really should get going—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, Buck, hold on a sec. You...” Hen swallows, sobering significantly, and this grabs Buck’s attention— and concern. “You, um, really should try to introduce yourself today. He told me he’s signed the lease on that new place across town— you know, the one that has more space for his son. So today’s panini will be his last from here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Buck’s stomach drops through the floor. “No.” Then he raises his head, and he’s just in time to see </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>walking out the front doors. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“No!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go get him!” Hen encourages. With a slap on the bicep, Buck is sent off. He launches himself through the door, nearly scaring the leggings off a young jogger coming in for a smoothie break. He swings his head all around, probably swiveling it three-sixty degrees at some point, but he can’t find him. Buck goes full steam ahead on the bustling sidewalk, squinting through the sun while trying to hold up the unwieldy to-go bags in either hand. Desperation has chipped away at the last of his doubts; if he has to be late to work in order to meet this man, then so be it. So Buck spins around for one last glance behind him, just to make sure, then he walks onward and— </span>
  <em>
    <span>smack. </span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Eddie hears the commotion before he sees it, but he’s quick to react because reacting fast is in his blood. He drops his forgotten sandwich, twists around, and jogs back toward the café. The crowd is thick but he manages to push through it, and what he finds when he emerges at the front is almost incomprehensible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baby Blue Eyes, his most favorite (and most vague) part of his daily routine, is crumpled on the sidewalk, eyes bulging and hands clasped around his throat. Eddie doesn’t even think before he drops on all fours next to him and tugs gently at his hands to peek at the damage underneath. He’s off-duty, but that doesn’t mean he can’t at least identify the damage to the 9-1-1 dispatcher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Eddie pants, meeting the not-so-strange stranger’s panicked gaze. He hopes his expression at least partially resembles the one he wears when comforting Christopher after a nightmare, but he doubts it does— and this doubt increases tenfold when it sinks in that their hands. Are. Touching. Holy shit, their hands are touching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To keep his hands busy doing something else, Eddie yanks his phone out of his back pocket and scrambles to call 9-1-1. Then he glares up at the two dumbfounded construction workers still standing above them. Held between them is a heavy duty metal utility pole, and the ugly purplish bruise on Muscle Man’s throat is a near-flawless tattoo of said utility pole. It’s easy enough to figure out what happened, but Eddie snappishly asks them to explain anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was— he was just walking, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He came out of nowhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie bites his lip and relays the necessary info to the dispatcher— “He can’t talk, and I’m not sure he’s breathing too well.” The entire time he stays crouched at the man’s side, trying not to sync up his labored, worried breathing with his. That would only make things more awkward. It’s bad enough that Eddie can feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>body heat, separate from the sun’s heat and radiating off of sweat-slicked skin to lightly kiss Eddie’s wrists as he goes to make him more comfortable, only to realize that </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh my god </span>
  </em>
  <span>the top two buttons of this guy’s shirt are already undone, revealing a dusting of coarse, downy blond chest hair, tantalizing and tickling him like long, dewy summer grass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. He’s in </span>
  <em>
    <span>deep. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time the paramedics arrive, Eddie has managed to calm down a bit. He wanted to offer more words of solace to this victim of unfortunate circumstance, but his heart was stopping up his throat. Now he steps back, allowing his comrades to take care of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they have him on oxygen and secured in a neck brace, a part forms in the ogling crowd. Eddie recognizes his favorite cashier from the café shouldering her way through, and in her shaking hands is what looks like a wrinkled menu. Eddie’s gaze flashes down to the man on the ground, who he has seen joking around with her— Hen, as her name tag reads— and his eyes are once again huge. He starts to wriggle around but the first responders hold him steady and try to assure him everything’s alright, but he doesn’t seem to listen. Eddie is torn between helping them soothe him and hearing what Hen has to say, because she’s cleared her throat and has the menu held out before her. Is she really about to recite lunch specials right now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, this is— this will sound crazy to most of you, but I’m just gonna say it, because it needs to be said. You hear me?” Hen says, fixing a stern glance on the poor man thrashing on the sidewalk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie tilts his head curiously. Then Hen begins speaking again, and with a jolt Eddie notices she’s directing her words at him. Though as she goes on, he gets the idea she’s reading someone else’s feelings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have seen you nearly every day for the year and a half I have been going to this café, and before I met you, I never knew someone could hold the entire sun in their eyes. If I could ever get the nerve to talk to you, I honestly think we would hit it off. You look like someone who I could talk to for hours and never get tired of. But whenever I think I’ll finally do it, finally come up to you and say hi, I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m so scared I’ve built this perfect image of you in my head, and though I imagine I’ll like you no matter who you are or how you are, I’m worried I’ll shatter whatever image you may have of me, because believe me, I’m far from perfect. But if you ever wanna grab a smoothie and a panini with me... I’ll be here, at this same café, because you’ve become my favorite part of every day—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A muffled cry rises up from the ground, and with a fumbling flourish, the wounded stranger sits up and paws at his oxygen mask. A sweeping flush crawls up Eddie’s neck as Blond Beauty sends a vicious scowl in Hen’s direction before he aims a far less severe look up at Eddie. He tries to croak something, but all that comes out is raspy, empty air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie grins and leans down to squeeze his hands. “It’s okay, Buck,” he says, and if those ocean eyes could expand any more, they do, and they leave room for nothing else on his face except for surprise. Inwardly, Eddie breathes a sigh of relief— he got the name right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And Evan, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>might be saved for more special occasions. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, uh... you wrote that for me?” Eddie goes on. Buck nods feebly. Eddie’s grin breaks into a wider smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The paramedics bounce a little on their feet, and at last one of them says, “This is a sweet moment, guys, but we really should be getting him to the hospital before the swelling worsens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods and watches as they lay Buck back down and transfer him gently onto a stretcher. The hollowness he feels in his stomach when they load him into the ambulance is like a pang, and then one of the responders asks, “Would you like to ride with him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Eddie says without hesitation. “Yeah, I would.” He hears a cheer from Hen and the lingering bystanders; he turns around to offer her a grateful smile. Then Eddie hops into the vehicle and settles in alongside everyone in the cramped area.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” another one of the responders says as they slap a blood pressure cuff around Buck’s arm. “I take it you two aren’t a thing </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite </span>
  </em>
  <span>yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie ducks his head but doesn’t sever his eye contact with Buck. “Yet,” he confirms, and he thinks if there wasn’t an oxygen mask over Buck’s mouth, there would be a smile there. Instead, it’s all in those beautiful eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all exchange introductions, and one of the paramedics mentions she’s friends with Bobby Nash, captain of the 118. “I thought your name seemed familiar,” she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Eddie chuckles. “I’ll be transferring there soon. I can’t wait.” He slips his hand into Buck’s and the rest of the ride slides by in a lovely haze (that’s as lovely as riding in the back of a wailing ambulance can be).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Much later, when Buck can speak again, he doesn’t say what Eddie is expecting him to. In fact, it’s rather one of the last things he expected to hear. Still, if warmth and everything wonderful in the world were translated into a voice, it would be Buck’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think,” Buck says, finding a stray thread on Eddie’s sleeve, “I think I want to be a first responder. Wear a uniform, save lives, live a little. Be with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie frowns at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But... will we still have time for the café if we’re both so busy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Buck laughs. Eddie thinks that maybe (maybe as in definitely) spending time with this man will be like sitting in a quiet café at a table in the corner with a coffee and a pastry— even when they’re in the most dire of situations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Buck laughs, and Eddie laughs too, and they both know the answer.</span>
</p>
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